


at what cost for one model ship

by kivancalcite



Category: Adventures of Tintin (2011)
Genre: Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Canon Related, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Imprisonment, Restraints, Threats of Violence, Verbal Abuse, doesn't happen but it is threatened, heavily threatened, let's watch tintin get distressed from what's happening to his dog, not super divergent but if tintin wasn't freed by snowy on the ship after being kidnapped, sakharine is a super condescending jerk as usual, sakharine knows how to exploit people, so beginning from canon i guess, the young man gets berated as hell by this bastard so be warned too, there is no actual violence in the fic but the level of threat and verbal abuse is really intense, this is just basically sakharine arguing with tintin and threatening snowy to get what he wants, tintin just happens to love his dog so much that he knows how to get the reporter in line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28602846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kivancalcite/pseuds/kivancalcite
Summary: A little alteration from canon - just after Tintin is kidnapped and brought aboard the ship, he doesn't get rescued by Snowy and instead has to deal with his little white dog being in the hands of Haddock's traitorous crew as well as Sakharine himself. All the worse for him since the bond between the young man and his dog is truly something when Sakharine realises he can exploit this fact to get what he wants, and Tintin is in too much of a helpless position to currently do anything about it.
Relationships: Milou | Snowy & Tintin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	at what cost for one model ship

**Author's Note:**

> The threats are not carried out but there's a few warnings. The bond really between Tintin and Snowy is just something to look at for something like this but I made sure to be careful with the tags.

There was a loud ferocious barking, angry voices and scuffling outside the cabin door, and Tintin’s head snapped around against the bars of the cage, eyes wide with panic. It could have only been one dog making that noise, causing that kind of chaos for the crewmates that had only recently left the cabin where he was being kept. He felt a sick feeling of anger and fear rise in the pit of his stomach, dreading what could be happening to him right outside that door.

He cursed, wrists chafing against the rope around them, overcome by more fear than anything else that burned especially across his face and through his stomach. He felt a numbness creep up his legs, his shoes scuffing against the floorboards in his attempt to free himself or at the very least, be able to stand on two feet.

He stopped, sensing the noises outside and trying to listen closer. The voices were muffled and though he couldn’t hear, there was definitely a level of threat involved. Tintin was normally level-headed even in situations like this, but this was involving his dog. His throat was dry and he swallowed, feeling the unmistakeable racing of his own heart. No, no, no, don’t, please don’t, he’d never let anything happen to him—

The voices got quieter, Snowy’s barking fading into the distance along with a few footsteps. Normally his instinct was to _do something_ , but the racing panic and now anger simmering underneath the surface seemed to put him in freeze mode. He did manage to have some strength to pull himself up though onto his feet with one of the bars though, his body shaking with adrenaline.

He heard the door open and shut behind him as he managed to stand. He felt a mix of emotions - fear, panic, anger, disgust, distress - at anything happening to his trusty little white dog. Would they kill him? Maybe. Would they hurt him? Almost certainly. But it was also certain they were doing this so they could force his hand to help them, he guessed. His hands felt dirty and he felt terror and nausea simultaneously just thinking about it. He couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ think about him doing anything to help them or what could be happening to Snowy.

That kind of stroll on the floorboards with a lighter shoe was pretty much recognisable. _Of course._ Who else would it be? He only ever talked to somebody when he wanted something. He didn’t have any friends. It was nothing but what he wanted and what he could get from anyone. What a sad life.

“If this is about my dog—” he bitterly remarked, trying to get his voice to remain cold, before he heard the familiar interruption of that faux affable, almost mocking, laugh.

“I believe you heard the commotion outside,” Sakharine replied behind him, a sick politeness in his tone, “I assure you, nothing bad will come to him—”

Tintin finally spun around, making direct eye contact with the man in red in front of him. The audacity in his voice and the clear coldness of his eyes demonstrated nothing but pretentious bullshit, to be frank, in his own mind. He stepped forward as close as he was able to, unable to help the fire burning in him to come straight out of his own mouth.

“—unless I don’t help you, of course,” he spat, refusing to stop looking this man in the eye, “You could not frankly be more obvious about what you want and why you have him, so stop acting so damn _nice_ about it.” He laughed, a laugh laced tremendously with venom.

Sakharine’s smile faded slightly, threat underlining his expression. He was perturbed by the boy’s reaction. Nonetheless, he was confident that this could be a breaking point. Let him be angry; not like there was much he could do. He could only be like this for so long.

He stepped forward so he was barely a foot away from him, the boy’s spiteful expression not budging. Though it was an obstacle to what he wanted, he was fascinated by the fire in his blood. He could see it in his eyes. I mean, he’d ended up here, hadn’t he? Such an eagerness for adventure and mystery at a young age that he forgot not to involve himself in business that clearly had nothing to do with him.

“You know,” he remarked, “I do wonder why such a young boy is involving himself in something like this. It seems considerably reckless of you to interfere with what the… _adults_ are doing.” He grinned at that last part, his voice taking on a more patronising tone by the end. The boy’s expression took on more of a disgusted appearance, demonstrating that this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

“I don’t exist to be patronised, Mr Sakharine,” Tintin stated, addressing him in that familiar way, “My age is not important when the _adults_ are busy committing to illicit business affairs.” He repeated it back similarly, malice heavy on that word in particular. He didn’t know if he had forgotten his fear or just ignored it, but he wasn’t in the place to debate that.

Sakharine was about to say something, but the boy clearly had the attitude to interrupt him. He’d pay for it dearly, evidently.

“And before you spin some sort of story right now, yes, I haven’t forgotten about my dear dog,” he said, practically snapping at the man, “I doubt harm will not come to whilst he’s with you.” His eyes appeared to burn both hot and cold at the other man, refusing to budge. He had not been one to shy away from these circumstances of intimidation.

Sakharine was not one for sentiment (maybe apart from his falcon, but that felt different), but the persistence of this boy about his dog demonstrated enough how easy it was to use others’ for his own gain. He didn’t care what happened to that white little mutt that meant so much to the ginger brat just so long as he got what he wanted from him.

Though frankly, with the way the boy was going with this, he might just have his men break a leg or two or even half drown the damn thing to get him to stop.

He laughed in his usual faux affable tone. “ _Perhaps_ ,” he said, stressing very specifically on that word, “You’re far too attached to that thing to be involved with these affairs, so you should be… _very glad I haven’t thrown it over board to die._ ” He similarly did so with the last sentence, displaying a sick grin as he studied the boy’s reaction to this response.

Tintin’s eyes flashed in anger, mouth twisted in scorn and teeth bared. “It’s very obvious life has no value for you unless it gives you what you want,” he viciously remarked, face pressed against the bars, “I’ve seen it all before. You’d step on anything to get what you want because the only person that matters in your life is you. That ‘thing’ is my dog, and if anyone’s blood here is going to be spilt, it’s _mine_.”

He appeared so serious, Sakharine almost wanted to laugh. “How noble of someone so young to throw yourself in front of your dear dog.” He displayed a contemptuous grin. “I’d say brave, but that doesn’t suit you. This isn’t a decision for you to make.”

The boy’s clear eyes appeared to shine more in the dim light, despite still maintaining the direct eye contact with him. _Was that just him? The boy might be beginning to break_. It was amazing that this attachment to this dog was enough to start such a ball rolling. For the boy’s spirits and capabilities, this seemed far too easy.

He took a step back and went to turn away, but the teenager couldn’t help but let out a particular desperation in his voice. “You have no right to make that decision! You have no right to take what isn’t _yours!_ ” He turned back around, relishing this moment. Those eyes were burning with emotion, that fire across his features. As endeared as he felt to that, this brat had no idea what he was dealing with.

He turned back, making a long, menacing step back towards him, faces now only inches apart. The boy’s brows furrowed, trying to maintain his anger despite the air of distress in his eyes. If no one else was going to put this child in his place, then he would.

“Listen here, you actual _child_ , I think I’ve made it very clear that I am not one to preach to about fairness!” he exclaimed contemptuously, a sneer across his face, “You’re on my ship interfering with _my_ business, I don’t care if it was rather you you’d want me to hurt instead of your dear mutt! Maybe if your parents taught you better, I wouldn’t have to be dealing with a brat and his dog like you!”

He stopped, taking in his reaction. Normally he’d come back with a quick response, but he was speechless. His clear eyes glistened more in the light, mouth shaking as if he was trying to say something. His brow remained furrowed, now full of a new emotion that perhaps he hadn’t felt in a while. The boy was probably used to this somehow, but maybe this time Sakharine had hit a nerve.

Tintin’s mouth was shaped in a scowl, disgust, anger and distress roiling especially underneath the surface. He couldn’t speak for a few moments, cursing this fresh vulnerability at the older man’s exclamation. He’d heard similar stuff before, his reputation with enemies beginning to precede him. But this villainous type seemed to hit him out of nowhere, and it was probably all the more painful when they had his dog besides.

“I don’t think anyone has been able to show you exactly what you’re dealing with,” Sakharine continued, voice softer and all the more sinister, “you’re a child, _Tintin_ , if that is your real name, and I have no idea how someone your age is getting involved in business that is no concern of him.”

“You’re hurting others just to get what you want! Besides, you stole _my_ ship!”

“You broke into MY house with a clear idea of what you were doing! You seemed it think it was fine and dandy to snoop around a place you didn’t belong!”

“I doubt it had ever crossed your mind that I had simply found a nice ship at the market before _you_ got involved. Who else was I supposed to suspect but you when I had bought it, clearly trying a bit too hard to convince me to sell it to _you?_ ”

Their voices had risen not so much in volume, but emotion. This boy had been too much of a smart ass from the beginning, and finding out he was a reporter was enough of a breaking point. If he was getting this conversation more in his control, he’d turn it back around. He wasn’t about to be outdone by a literal child. It was beginning to go absolutely nowhere as a result.

“I was _trying_ to be reasonable,” Sakharine responded, a faux affable tone returning to his voice, “but since you have continued to not understand who you’re dealing with, I think I’ll go ahead and have your precious mutt’s legs broken. Call it a small comfort that I won’t make you _watch_.”

Tintin’s face appeared to drain of colour as Sakharine’s face split open at a sick grin at what he just said. 

“You touch my dog and I’ll–” Tintin said, voice now cracking before he was interrupted.

“Or you’ll do what?” Sakharine asked mockingly, malicious amusement clear in his voice, “What could you possibly do in your situation if I touch that poor little white dog of yours?”

Anger and distress was now boiling on the surface, and Tintin could feel tears collect in his eyes. He was not one to do this, this was not him. Even for someone his age, he was usually strong-willed. But, perhaps, not enough for Snowy.

The older man was relishing in this new sight of this pesky ginger brat finally be compromised this emotionally. He was in the authoritative position here and seeing that release of tears, though pathetic, be somewhat enjoyable. It had taken threatening to hurt his trusty little animal to break him so easily.

“Don’t you dare,” Tintin said, voice shaking with a quiet anger, “he doesn’t need to be a part of this.”

Sakharine stepped back and turned, sighing. “If you’re going to remain this stubborn and refuse to cooperate, I’m afraid he’ll be even more involved. You two have given me enough grief already.”

The tears were carving even more of a wet path down Tintin’s face now, watching Sakharine as he turned and began to walk away. He pressed his face as much as he could against the metal bars. “Fine! Do whatever you want, but don’t you dare touch my dog!” Tintin snapped, voice bitter and angry despite how broken it felt. The older man refused to stop but merely smiled self-satisfactorily away from him as he strolled back towards the door.

Let him rant, he thought. They could wait. It was enough to get him to even attempt to cooperate, but even better that he found it easier to break the boy’s spirits. Maybe leaving him on his own in there would put him in his place whilst he was none the wiser about his dog, and shouting would get him nowhere.

“Listen to me! Don’t you even think about it!” Tintin began to shout as Sakharine opened the door and stepped through, not even thinking to look back as it finally shut. He heard the footsteps as he felt a sob rising in his throat. He wouldn’t, no he wouldn’t. This wouldn’t happen to him, despite everything that others had thrown at him.

Now that he was alone, he began to feel the fresh release of tears as they burnt across his skin. He was angry, of course he was angry. There was too much he was angry about. But he was scared, he was upset, he had no idea what was happening outside of his current prison, things he’d refuse to admit to himself. He opened his mouth to shout something again, but stopped, coming to the realisation that it was hopeless.

He stepped back, sliding against the bars on the opposite side until he was sitting again. His wrists felt raw from the rope biting his skin and he leant his head back until he was staring at the ceiling. The sob that had settled at the back of his throat finally escaped from his mouth, and he shut his eyes as hot tears fell faster down his face. His dog brought at least solace and affection in dire situations like this, but now he had no idea what was happening to him.

“ _Snowy…_ ” he finally spoke into the silence, voice quieter than ever, “ _I’m sorry._ ”


End file.
